


Verba Volant, Scripta Manent

by Byacolate, mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoption, Correspondence, Dwarf OCs - Freeform, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Established Relationship, Kid Fic, Letter fic, Letters, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Letters, M/M, Multi, Muteness, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Canon, Retcon Timeline, Schmoop, Schmoop Supported By Canon, Seasickness, Sign Language, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4795070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoken words fly away; written words remain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Verba Volant, Scripta Manent

**Author's Note:**

> We began this a couple weeks before Trespasser was released, so there won't be spoilers until later bits. However, we commit to the timeline we've set in place for this letter fic; the idea that the events of Inquisition took place within a single year is ludicrous and we're just going to have to ignore it. So while in canon Dorian left for Tevinter in 9:42 Dragon and Trespasser takes place in 9:44, we've moved that back two years.

5th Matrinalis, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dearest and Most Esteemed Lady Nightingale,

 

I hope the good weather finds you well. Thank you for the raven. Thank you doubly for the entourage of intimidating guardsman. If it isn't too much trouble, do ignore any further correspondence between myself and nondescript figureheads within your organization after I’ve finished with these pleasantries. You will find a pair of slippers attached alongside this request for some modicum of privacy. They are the the very same shade as your eye shadow, unbelievably comfortable, and most assuredly a bribe.

 

Maker’s blessings upon your cowl and crows,

_Dorian Pavus_

 

* * *

 

5th Matrinalis, 9:44 Dragon

 

To His Lordship, Most Holy Bedimpled Inquisitor Adaar of Southern Thedas,  

 

The beds of the inns I’ve been keeping to are soft (relatively speaking). I only wish someone would have told me as much when I was descending from my homeland. To think, I spent all that time in the wilderness fighting for survival when I could have been luxuriating in a fine straw bed. Yet here I am, so accustomed to the cold hard ground that I find civilized accommodations almost too comfortable.

 

Almost, but not entirely: I lie abed here, too comfortable to sleep, and my thoughts turn to you. I’ve been gone not five days, and the Waking Sea is perhaps another five more beyond that if all goes well. And if I continue to put off sleep. Still, even a week without word seemed to much, and thus, here I am. There is very little to say, but still I feel I should be talking. The candle is dying. There’s a tear and a stain in the curtains that might both be the product of an errant blade. The couple in the room beside mine are either fighting or rutting like beasts. I miss you terribly.

 

You’ve probably found the bottle of wine I left in your wardrobe. Drink it and think of me, won’t you?

 

Here look: I’ve said nothing at all. You can be sure that I’ll do it again soon. Write me, won’t you? If you can spare the time. Verba volant, scripta manent.                   

 

Yours faithfully, enduringly, magnificently,

_Dorian Pavus of This Little Inn at the Edge of the Frostbacks_

 

* * *

 

7th August, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dear Dorian,

 

I cannot tell you how relieved I was to receive your letter. I read it twice on my way from the rookery and twice more when I got back to our room. Five days is too long. I know you will not always have the time to write and that the days will only seem longer the farther you are away from me. I would not wish to put additional burden on you but just know that I am eagerly awaiting your word. Hoping, waiting. Worrying, just a little bit. (This will not surprise you, I am sure.)

 

There. I've said it. No more of this or my mind will wander to dark places and I will run to the stables at the first light and chase after you. And I promised you I would not. Not to mention that Josephine would surely have my head if I did. As always, there are visiting nobles to appease and treaties to discuss and letters to write that are far more unpleasant than this one.

 

I should not complain. She keeps me busy. And if I am not in her office or in the war room, I help the healers as best as I can. There are still refugees coming every day and there seems to be no end in sight. The war might be over but the scars run deep.

 

I wish I had more to tell you. And more pleasant things at that. Home is still home, even if it is colder without you. There is still ale in the tavern and flowers in the garden and there is an amusing story about Cole and a flock of chickens that I need to tell you when my eyes are not so tired. But the sky is already growing brighter in the east and I cannot avoid the bed any longer.

 

I miss you. Terribly. More than I can say.

 

Yours always,

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

12th Matrinalis, 9:44 Dragon

 

To Lord Inquisitor Adaar, Defender of the Dales, Hinterlands, etc. Ad Nauseam,

 

We come upon the Waking Sea at first light. Your men said we should ride through the night, and we made it through most, but a pair of very convincing dwarven scouts had us bunking several miles out not long after nightfall. I think I saw one flash a knife, as though to appear more convincing. I do love shifty dwarves.

 

I’ve waxed lyrical regarding my hatred toward ships before, so it will come as no surprise to you that I regret the decision not to simply ride around the sea. Your agents keep insisting we will ‘cut through it’ which makes it sound so much smoother than it really is. Less cutting, more hacking and sawing.

 

You’re far too sentimental. We are always only a crowflight apart, you and I. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone, for how often I shall write to you. You will think I’ve nothing better to do before the year is out.

 

You say you’re keeping busy as though it were news. The stillest I’ve ever seen you is in bed, and even then - well. Even then you weren’t very still at all.

 

The pebble in my left boot is now a permanent fixture. I acquired it on the climb down from Skyhold, and I haven’t had the heart to remove it. And here I’d accuse you of sentimentality.

 

The Imperium looms ahead, but my heart remains with you.

 

Do write, when you have the time. I will need something to take my mind from the lurching, rocking, tipping vessel on those endless waves. Pity me, amatus.

 

Ever and ever yours,

_Dorian Pavus of Soil and Solid Ground_

 

* * *

  
15th August, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dear Dorian,

 

A crowflight apart, you say. But I cannot for the life of me understand why, with all the resources we have, we have not been able to breed these birds to fly faster. Or at least big enough to carry me with them. (Now wouldn’t that be a sight?) Leliana assured me that her birds never get lost but still I fear that one of my letters could not reach you. I will have to trust her on this, but your absence seems to have made me anxious. Or at least elevated my worry to the point of irrationality.

 

I hope that the bird will even find you while you are on the ship, or it will take weeks for this to reach you. I remember my own crossing well, and with horror. My whole life people have told me about the famous dreadnoughts of Par Vollen, but I stand by my opinion that qunari were not meant to be at sea.

 

Things have been going well enough. I don't sleep much but there is always work to do so I hardly notice anymore. Cullen took me down to the valley yesterday. By now there are more refugees than soldiers in the camp and it is starting to become a problem. It is still warm enough at night, even here, but it will be winter soon and we do not have the space at the fortress to accommodate them all. There is talk about redirecting some of the Inquisition’s resources toward building real houses as opposed to giving the people more tents. The debate at the war table is both heated and tiresome. I do not know why I ever thought things would get easier.

 

But look at me, complaining like an old washerwoman while you are the one on a far more perilous journey. Do stay safe and well away from people with knives and from ships if you can help it.

 

I will now go to the rookery and try to find the fastest-looking bird Leliana can spare.

 

Yours always,

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

14th Matrinalis, 9:44 Dragon

 

Amatus,

 

My letter was not long gone and I’ve yet to receive one in return, but I must keep myself occupied. I can only thank the Maker that you aren’t here to see me like this. The state of me - ill, disheveled (less in the attractive rumpled sort of way, more I’ve-just-been-sick-over-the-bow), green all around the edges. I haven’t had a proper shave in days. Some of your agents don’t dare laugh openly, though whether it’s because I’m Tevinter or because I am yours, I couldn’t say. They aren’t all wary of wounding my dignity, though. I don’t know whether to be grateful or to turn them into toads.

 

Off to be sick again. Will write more soon.

 

_D_

 

* * *

 

15th Matrinalis, 9:44 Dragon

 

Still no word, but that’s to be expected. I count myself fortunate to be aboard an Inquisition vessel. Did you know it has its own rookery? Small, for certain, but that it exists at all is laughable. What on earth must they keep reporting back to your spymaster? We are at sea! I can only hope for a band of wayward pirates to put me out of my misery.

 

I can’t really complain, though. There are always birds to send these pointless scraps of vellum off with. You may be kept up to date on all of my seasickness and moaning. Maker only knows you haven’t heard enough of it in my absence.

 

I take back what I said about your absence being for the best; I would do anything now for your healing touch.

 

~~Have you had the w~~

 

I nearly inquired about the drink I’d left in your wardrobe, but the very thought of it had me dashing for the chamber pot. There is no solace for me, not even within my own thoughts. Now I can only beg for a swift death at sea.

 

Tragically yours,

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

16th Matrinalis, 9:44 Dragon

 

This evening, one of your dwarven scouts claimed I was dehydrated and manhandled me to a water barrel. I was told if I didn’t drink at least four cups before bed, she’d drown me in it, ‘Inquisitor’s pretty-man or no’. You should have seen the deckhand’s face. All the gold in the world couldn’t buy a performance more entertaining than his expression.

 

It wasn’t as though he was surprised to hear I was your kept man, though. As it so happens, everyone aboard is well aware. What a novel thing, to have one’s business known and not be cast into judgment for it. I’ll hold onto this feeling for as long as I’m able.

 

It all comes from a love of you, you know. They care for you, these people under your command.

 

Not half as much as me, though - chiefest among those Under You.

 

I should go have some more water before I’m drowned. You would miss me terribly.

 

Your Pretty-Man,

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

18th M, 9:44 D

Amatus,

Dwarf gave me something for seasickness. Knocked me off my feet through yesterday. Woke up this morning to a letter from you. Can’t see straight. Might be a fever dream. Will write when I exist.

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

18th August, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dearest, most beloved and most seasick Dorian,

 

I fell asleep for three dreadful hours last night and then woke to find two more of your messages waiting for me. My heart hurts to hear that you suffer like this, even though I know it is only temporary. I wish I was there to take care of you myself. But I trust that the sailors will know how to help you if your condition worsens. (If not, ask them for Rivaini root. It’s a greyish tuber with yellow flesh. Boil it with some elfroot and if you add a bit of rum, it will probably knock you out for the worst of the journey.)

 

I have found the wine you left for me. (How thoughtless of me not to mention it before.) But I have yet to take a single sip. It reminds me too much of you, however sentimental that may sound. I was waiting for the perfect opportunity but it never seems to arise with the days being long and dull and full of work. One of these nights I will just open it and drink to memories of our conversations past. Perhaps it will help me to finally find some sleep.

 

Hopefully by the time this reaches you, you will have found something to help with the sickness. I cannot bear the thought of you suffering somewhere where I cannot reach you to help.

 

My thoughts are with you, always.

 

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

20th August, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dearest Dorian,

 

The rest of your letters arrived and I am glad that someone seemed to have the sense to remember Rivaini root after all. The rum as well, apparently. And I am even happier to see that throughout the whole ordeal you have not lost your sense of humor. If you give me the name of the dwarven scout I will see that she is properly rewarded. And I would be able to thank her personally for doing what I should have been there to do myself.

 

It has been a good day so far. Sunny and warm and unusually productive at the war table. Even Cullen and Josephine have found some things to agree on. I still miss you terribly. I will go down into the valley later today to see if I can help the healers. It keeps my hands busy at least, in the hope that they won’t notice how decidedly not busy they are with holding you. (Sometimes they still look for you in the morning, in those few short seconds before I am fully awake and I should not tell you this but it hurts every time to find the spot next to me empty and cold.)

 

I will leave it at that before I go down the spiral of missing you once more.

 

In the hope that this will find you well and at least conscious enough to read,

 

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

25th August, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dearest Dorian,

 

I have not heard from you yet so I have to assume that you are still sleeping off the Rivaini root or the rum. Or both. In any case, it is preferable to the wild worries my brain concocts. Silly, I know. But I cannot help it.

 

We were supposed to start with the construction of the houses this week but more refugees come streaming in each day. Bandits in the Hinterlands and the Frostbacks are driving people from the homes and into our arms. If this continues, I will have to ride out there myself to deal with it. Josephine doesn't like the idea, but both Leliana and Cullen agree that it might become necessary. I would be the first time in a long while that I travel without you and the thought is strange and lonely to me.

 

I hope you are well and healthy and conscious enough to write to me soon.

 

Yours always,

 

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

26th August, 9:44 Dragon

 

Still no word from you. I'm starting to get worried. (More so than usual.)

 

If I have not heard from you in five days time I will ride to the coast myself to look for you.

 

Please be safe.

 

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

26th Matrinalis, 9:44 Dragon

 

Amatus,

 

Your letters have only just arrived. The birds were waylaid by a few stormy days, I hear. It matters little. All I know is that it has been more than a week since I’ve heard from you last, and it’s reduced me to little more than this heartsick shell of a man.

 

I should write about how busy I’ve been aboard, my little chores, my health, but I’ve lost all decorum. And I’ve been in the rum.

 

~~I miss you. I could not count the times I’ve woken to stretch a hand across the bed only to find you absent. You’ve done this to me, you know. You’ve made half of my bed empty while my heart is overfull.~~

 

I’m going to find another drink.

 

There, I’ve found one. This brew is heinous but I can’t stop drinking it. Send wine, beloved. And word. I can never get enough of your words. You were always so quiet, but you write to me as though you’re just bursting with them. I love what happens inside your head, and what you make of it with your hands. I love knowing now what you kept so hidden before. And I love this rum.

 

With all of my heart and my sloppy drunken penmanship,

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

30th August, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dear Dorian,

 

Your letter arrived, finally. I cannot tell you how much lighter my heart feels knowing that nothing has happened and that my worries were unfounded. I feel silly now that I did not even think about the possibility of bad weather delaying our letters.

 

But I have to admit my heart broke when I read your words. As much I was happy to find out you are healthy, the thought of you alone and unhappy is too much for me to bear.

 

Words do not come easy to me, much of the time. Listening has always been easier. Touching you easier still. Trying to put my thoughts to paper is new and strange and has made me realize all the things I should have told you when I still had the chance. Like how I love they way you speak with your hands and the way you smile with just one corner of your mouth when you think something is funny but don’t want anyone to know. Or how you look in the morning just before you wake up, so soft and unguarded. Or how I love you, all of you and only you. I should have told you a thousand times and it still wouldn’t have been enough.

 

So now, while you are a world away, I will make another attempt. I love you. Endlessly. Incandescently. Irrevocably.

 

I wish you were here to tell me to stop being such a sap and kiss you instead. And I would. But you are not and I am left with ink and paper and an empty bed.

 

I hope to hear from you soon and that you will forgive me my worrying. It is born out of love, if that helps at all.

 

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

5th Parvulis, 9:44 Dragon

 

To His Lordship Inquisitor, Long May He Reign,

 

It has been a time, I know. I can only hope this letter will reach you within a fortnight, so far are we from home. Would you believe that the Nevarrans care for me even less than Orlesians? I have so missed my boots being spat upon. Nostalgia at its finest.

 

If there is anyone equipped to quell the unrest of the masses, it’s you. You just have to pop up on the horizon to frighten these bandits and ruffians into a life of piety. It’s all in the shoulders, you see - your impressive stature. Still, I don’t relish the thought of you charging into the thick of things without me. If you pick a fight with another ancient magister, I really will be cross.

 

And keep away from dragons, no matter how the Bull pleads.

 

I can scarcely remember what I’d written you before, but it must have been desperate indeed to evoke such emotion from you. I apologize, amatus. I never meant to cause you worry. You must put it out of your head at once. I’ll bribe my entourage never to allow me near a quill and vellum when I’m in my cups from this day forward. I’m sure the dwarves will find it an amusing challenge.

 

Though perhaps I could use a drink to properly respond. I admit, I had barely begun reading the most recent when I had to stuff the letters within my robes and secret myself away in the inn to finish it. If you meant to fluster me in front of the Maker, Nevarra, and all of sundry, you very nearly succeeded.

 

And I can only hope that your spymaster isn’t following every word of this, because it must be said: You may not have expressed these things in so many words, amatus, but I knew. I have known. Against my better judgment, and yours. You say words come not easily to you, but you have done very well indeed; my heart races when I read your words, as though I am young again. You have a way of making me brighter, better all the way from my rotten little core.

 

I keep your words close to my heart always, amatus. Carissimus. Mellitus.

 

Conquer all who would stand in your way. Write often. Be safe. Vitae benefaria.

 

Yours always,

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

12th Kingsway, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dearest Dorian,

 

I am glad to hear that you are safe and on dry land. Even spitting Nevarrans are preferable to storms and waves and everything that lurks underneath. But thinking about an entire sea separating us now is another painful thought to add to my nightly worries. You are so far from me, now more than ever. I will get used to it, in time. But for now I still wish for a ridiculously large raven to carry me over the Waking Sea. Or perhaps one of those fabled griffons.

 

I apologize if my words caused you any embarrassment but they are all I have now that I cannot show you my feelings in other ways. You say that I have made you better but I need you to know that I feel the same. Without you I would have been lost. Without you… I would not even want to imagine it now.

 

Things have been hectic around here, to say the least. I am leaving for Ferelden in the morning with Bull and the Chargers. The situation with the bandits as turned into a real problem. They have attacked a caravan of dwarves who were on their way to Skyhold for trade. The few that survived are badly hurt and only made it here at all because a troupe of our scouts found them. I know you would scold me for it but I cannot help but feel responsible. They came with wares for the refugees and now… And if we do not resolve this issue before the harvests in the fall we won’t be able to feed our people.

 

I am sorry. I do not mean to burden you with our everyday struggles. They are nothing new for you and you have bigger things to worry about. You are so close now, and getting closer every day. Remember that you are loved and that I am endlessly proud of every step you take.

 

I will write to you as soon as I can. I miss you.

 

Yours in everything,

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

24th Parvulis, 9:44 Dragon

 

Amatus,

 

You will have been away for some time once you receive this letter. I wonder, will Leliana forward it to the Hinterlands? Will one of your officers call for you and you, anticipating some mindless requisition, will fall over backwards to find word from me instead? Or will this be one letter among many piled upon your desk awaiting your return, tucked away in your room in a way I cannot be. Either way, I hope it brings you a moment of peace during your long days.

 

I’ll say this only once so that you may understand the weight of it: You could never burden me. Your struggles are my own, no matter how far I am from your side. I took them the moment I joined your cause, and I shall keep them for the rest of my days. If the only help I can offer is a listening ear - figuratively speaking - then you have it for as long as you’ve use of it.

 

Now that that’s out of the way, I must wax poetic about Nevarran whiskey. I’d try my hand at a limerick, but if Varric isn’t around to critique it through his applause, then what is the point? I will say that Cassandra has been holding out on us. Skyhold’s imports are paltry compared to the selection in the heart of this beautiful nation.

 

Everything looks better after a glass or two. I promise I’ve only had the two - the dwarves are eyeing me over the fire, ready to snatch the vellum away at any moment.

 

The more timid agents among them are warming up to me, I think. Something about spending several weeks pallid and ailing at sea will take the intimidation right out of a man, it seems. That, or my natural warmth and good nature has finally endeared me to them. Goodness knows the latter must be the heart of it.

 

The Chargers are quite fond of you, so I suppose having them at your back is nearly as good as having myself. I still hold that you’ll make short work of those bandits. I sit here by firelight hoping as I write that you’ll smite them with your awesome power, but aware that you’re more likely to recruit them instead. I’d advise you against it, but if anyone can convince a band of hardened criminals to turn over a new leaf, it is you.

 

I’ve been refused another glass until I put the vellum away, and I have another letter to write, so I’ll tuck this away to send off on the morrow. I hope it reaches you swiftly and finds you hale and whole.

 

Yours,

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

24th Parvulis, 9:44 Dragon

 

Forwarded to the Desk of Captain Iron Bull,

 

I hope the Ferelden air is treating you well, and that you manage to bathe sometime in the next month, and other innocuous pleasantries meant to fill space and time. Know that if he falls under your care, I will return to kill you just to raise you from the dead and kill you again. And again. And again, until you are nothing but a pile of greyish meat. And then twice more. Tell Rocky I’m drinking double for him, and do take care.

 

Sincerely and with total prejudice,

_D Pavus the Esteemed_

 

* * *

 

8th Harvestmere, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dearest Dorian,

 

It has been almost a month since I last wrote to you. The distance between us is getting longer so naturally this would happen at some point but it still feels strange and wrong to me. I could have send word from the road but the news would not have been good and I did not mean to worry you before we reached Skyhold again. Your letter was waiting for me there and made coming home just a little sweeter.

 

Our mission to deal with the bandits turned into a much longer and more dangerous affair than we had anticipated. We met the first of them just at the foot of the Frostbacks but the fight was hard and drawn out. There were much more of them than we originally thought, small groups scattered all over the countryside but loosely connected through a network of alliances. Bandits that dealt with politics, can you imagine?

 

I will tell you now because I know that you would find out eventually and I would want you to hear it from me. In one of the last battles I was hurt. An ax to the shoulder. For a while we thought I might lose my left arm and if I were a smaller man I undoubtedly would have. The wound is mostly healed now, although it will leave a nasty scar, they tell me.

 

We lost two scouts but the rest of us got away with bruises. What matter is that the bandits are dealt with and the routes to Skyhold are free once more.

 

It is good to be back home even if I just found your letter in my bedroom and not you yourself. It was just a scrap of comfort but I will take it. I imagine you would find the fortress much changed, even after being gone for just a short time. Construction of the houses in the valley is well under way and we are hoping most of them will be done before the winter. People need them desperately. Of the group of dwarves that were attacked by the bandits and arrived just before my departure, and only three have survived their injuries. One of them a small girl who seems to have lost her parents in the attack. She does not speak and as things are, there is no way to even find out if she has family elsewhere or where she comes from. The other survivors do not know her. I know you don't like it when I speak like this, but knowing what's happened to these people makes me think I would gladly take an axe to the shoulder if it meant preventing it from happening again. There is too much suffering out there, Dorian, and only so little we can do.

 

I hope this letter finds you well and that I will hear from you soon. All the distractions in the world mean nothing to me at night when I crawl into bed to find it still empty. I miss you, more and more every day.

 

Thinking of you always,

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

18th Frumentum, 9:44 Dragon

 

Amatus,

 

I’m sure you’ve heard as much from the lady Ambassador, but the Nevarrans have been… tedious, the closer we are to the border. We’re circling the Silent Plains from the east and intend to cross through Solas. I’m the only one who finds it funny.

 

While Leliana’s people are fretting, sending messages back to each of your advisors as quick as the crow flies - quite literally - I’ve only just sent word to a cousin in Vyrantium. If she’s having one of her good days, she might grant us easier passage along the Imperial Highway. I’m confident she’s marginally fond of me, so do tell Josephine not to fret overmuch.

 

I imagine I’ll receive your latest letter any day now. I hope. I’ve a small collection of little bits I’ve written on scraps of vellum over the past month, but they’re all rather trite and painful to read, so I cannot send them. Not sober, anyway.

 

With all the best wishes in my heart and sand in my boots,

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

21st Frumentum, 9:44 Dragon

 

Amatus,

 

I haven’t much time or energy at the moment, and very little light, but I received your letter and my displeasure must be known. That you won’t be exactly as whole as I’d left you drives me to regret, and I cannot examine that now. Please inform Bull that his days are numbered, and not bountifully.

 

But I shall keep you, whatever is left within all the scar tissue. I would have you with no limbs at all. (Don’t you dare take that as encouragement to lose them.)

 

Surely this matter is now resolved? Skyhold will provide for her people, and so shall you. You fret and fret and forget how very many people are more than happy to prove their generosity to the Inquisitor. Make use of them.

 

I must shop for more vellum, but the nearer we are to the border, the fewer people are willing to sell to me. My coin is worthless in the face of my heritage. Still, there is always a way. You taught me so. I’m an optimist now, you see.

 

Until then, na via lerno victoria. Only the living know victory. And your victory means everything to me.

 

Don’t think I’m not furious. The moment I have more parchment upon which to express myself, you will know exactly how much rage I’ve caged behind this genial tone. Go tend to your orphans while you still may.

 

Spitefully yours,

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

2nd Firstfall, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dearest Dorian,

 

Please do not be cross. I hope time has calmed your anger a little bit but if this is not the case I must ask you to direct it all toward me. Bull was not at fault and neither was Krem (although he seems to be of a different opinion, judging by the enormous scarf he has knitted for me). I alone am to blame. I was reckless and paid the price. I hope to relieve some of your worry when I tell you that the wound has healed completely by now. And the scar will serve as a reminder to be more careful in the future.

 

We had the first snowfall this week and the fortress is almost unrecognizable. Not just because everything is suddenly white and soft. There is something about snow that turns even the oldest and grumpiest of soldiers into a wondering child. There have been numerous snowball fights all over the castle. Unsurprisingly, the Chargers are at the forefront but even they are powerless against the machine that Dagna has constructed just for this purpose. I have never seen snowballs being catapulted at such a speed. You would be impressed, I think. And probably be watching from a safe distance. Since we convinced Cole that snowballs do not actually hurt people, he has proven to be one of the most proficient players of this game. We never see him coming until it is too late and the back of our shirts packed with snow.

 

Reading back those last few lines made me realize that I sound almost happy. And I am, I suppose. I still miss you terribly but the few weeks have been easier for me. We have enough food in storage to get everyone through the winter and both the refugees and the soldiers are safe and warm in their new quarters. Morale is high. Being effectively snowed in seems to have that effect. I wonder what the world will look like in the spring.

 

We have yet to receive word from you if your cousin has given aid. I worry about you more and more with every step that you take. Knowing that you are traveling through lands where you are not welcome and where I cannot help you is enough to cause me sleepless nights. Be safe and be careful.

 

The nights I cannot sleep I usually spend in the infirmary. The healers always need help (or at least they tolerate my presence). The little dwarven girl I have told you about is still with us. The others from her group moved on as soon as their injuries allowed them to do so, but they left the child behind. She is staying with the healers for now, much to their delight. We call her Kea and she seems to like the name well enough. If she had another one before we would not know it and she cannot tell us. She still does not speak but we have come to the conclusion that it is not because of the trauma or because of illness but just part of who she is. It is impossible to tell her age. She is so small, even for a dwarf it seems, but she is running and climbing all over the infirmary when we let her. She has also become quite confident and demanding, using her hands and grimaces to tell us exactly what she wants.

 

This one has turned out very long. But there is always so much to tell and I want to tell you everything. Even the smallest things that might bore you. I miss talking to you. I miss everything about you, really. But if I follow that thought the letter might get too long and heavy for any bird to carry.

 

Thinking of you always,

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

 

1st Umbralis, 9:44 Dragon

Lady Ambassador Montilyet,

Yes, this is market bag paper. No, I shan’t apologize, though I pray you don’t think the bird has brought you a clawful of garbage before you unscroll it. I wish you a merry Satinalia so far from your homeland. Enjoy the feasting, but not the fasting - no one will fault you except the stodgy and the pious. That’s only almost everyone.

By the time this arrives it will be far too late, but if you would humor me and secure for him a honey tart drowned in cinnamon, and a tall cup of tea - half crystal grace, half of that delightful aged brandy I caught you sneaking into Skyhold last spring In Case of Emergencies - I would be in your debt. Rest assured, there’s a shipment of Vyrantian bonbons with your name on them for the honor.

All the best,

_Dorian Pavus_

 

* * *

 

17th Umbralis, 9:44 Dragon

 

Amatus,

 

I’ve secured some parchment now that we’re over the border. My cousin’s word and a flash of the family crest did much in the way of securing our safe passage, so I must thank you for that once more.

 

I received your letter only yesterday, but I’ve read it perhaps a hundred times. The state of me. Scouts Haegrit and Agath - perhaps better known to you as She Who Threatened Drowning Upon Me and Her Stalwart Companion -  balk at the name you’ve given your orphan. Haegrit is telling me that if I don’t relay this message, she will ‘nick the quill from my poncy manicured fingers and tell Big Grey herself’. I must protest the manicure; I’ve forgotten what it feels like not to have half the Silent Planes bedded cozily under my nails. I didn’t know there was so much room under there. I could have used the space to store more wine for the journey.

 

Haegrit is giving me a look like she knows I haven’t written what she’s dictated, so now I must, for I fear what she will write in my stead. They protest such a name for ‘such a wee unfortunate’. Apparently, dwarven names are meant to be ‘sturdy and hard as the stone’ and ‘that’s what happens when you leave a bairn in the hands o’ the big folk.’ Hand to my heart, I have tried to defend your decision, but the looks they gave me could melt ore.

 

They’ve just begun to call her ‘Kearok’. I asked if all it took to make a decent dwarven name was to put a ‘rock’ in it, and wouldn’t you know it, they threw one at my head. These are the people your spymaster has entrusted with my livelihood.

  
We travel north to Vyrantium, as my cousin has demanded a visit for her troubles. I’ve tried to warn her that I travel with southern barbarians, spies, fiends, and dwarves, but it has only encouraged her. Keep Josephine on standby for any latent outrage and political scandal. We should arrive within a month if the riding is good. We veer from the Imperial Highway in the morning.

 

Though I am pleased to hear you’re keeping busy, it troubles me that you still have so many sleepless nights. I would recommend you find someone to rub the tension from your shoulders, but it would not do for a lesser man to realize how very impressive they are. Goodness knows that the moment I first had my hands upon you was when I knew I was in love, and no man has a greater will than I. I would have to be horrifically jealous. Perhaps you can convince your little rock to walk over your back instead? Fun for everyone.

 

Your tales warm me, but I must confess, they leave me homesick as well. I picture all of your faces, flushed with cold, and mope about like a widower for leaving it all behind. Still, do tell me more. Try to convince Cole that it would do a Chantry sister good to suffer a face full of snow.

 

I shall write again when I am able. Haegrit sends her best wishes and a fist to the chest. With Agath, it is implied.

 

Yours,

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

 

29th Firstfall, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dearest Dorian,

 

Winter now has us fully in its grasp with all the snowstorms and treacherous patches of ice in the yard that come with it. There is something cozy about it, all of us huddled together inside to avoid the worst of the cold. But Cullen still tries to train his soldiers, with less success than he hopes for, I think. They may love him during the rest of the year but those early morning runs through the snow don't make him very popular. I do not think he cares.

 

I do think I have you to thank for the honey tarts that Josephine keeps smuggling on my desk. If you intended this to be a singular occurrence I have to inform you that this happens almost on a daily basis now. She says I look “thin and tired”, which I suspect to be a nice way of saying “haggard”. But I will not complain. The taste reminds me of you, more than anything else.

 

Perhaps you will be glad to hear that I am starting to sleep more. Since the healers have moved into warmer but smaller quarters closer to the main building, we have moved Kea’s bed into our room. I am forced to stop tossing and turning and wandering around at night. And once she is asleep, her presence is quite soothing. (When she's awake, however, that child is more work than should be possible for such a little thing.)

 

We have developed ways of communicating even without words. It is mostly different signs and hand signals and we add more words every day. It is almost like a language now and other people in the keep are starting to pick it up as well. Perhaps your dwarven friends will be pleased to hear that she has taken to refer to herself with a sign similar to the one we use for the word “rock”. I suspect she picked it up from hearing the expression “Child of the Stone” but maybe it is a dwarf thing after all.

 

I am glad to hear that you are going to visit your cousin. Finally a friendly face that is more likely to treat you with the courtesy you deserve. Or at least with the sort of behavior you are used to dealing with. I am never sure with your family and Josephine was not able to tell me much. Please do write to me once you have arrived and let me know that everything went well. Do not hesitate to throw the weight my title around whenever you think it might help you. I am in favor of everything that keeps you safe.

 

I had Josephine send a package to Vyrantium and I hope it arrives before you do. Just a few small things to remind you of home and of me. I hope you will like it and it will not cause even more homesickness.

 

Yours always,

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

 

5th Cassus, 9:44 Dragon

 

Amatus,

 

I’ve yet to receive any word from you, but I am struck every day by all the little thoughts I wish I could simply turn to you and speak. Normally I catch myself before I write each one down - precious jewels though they are - but the desire remains. So here’s one I could not resist: I feel such comfort speaking Tevene again. It is an unexpected comfort for certain, though hardly a strange one. I remember feeling homesick for it for the longest time after my departure. I had no friends, no steadfast allies, no countrymen with any desire to speak the old tongue.

 

Yes, it’s a comfort, but I can think of several things that would serve to comfort me better. It’s a pleasant sort of nostalgia to hear and speak the language of my homeland, and even better to hear the accents of a home long past, but someday, should I leave it all behind once more, I shan’t regret it. I have only hope for the future, so long as it leads me back to your side.

 

I won’t tarry here writing this sap. I shall just wait patiently for your letter as we go. I have the self control of a saint, and the patience of a chantry sister. Or is it the other way round?

 

Dreadfully yours,

_Dorian_

* * *

 

7th Cassus, 9:44 Dragon

 

Another pointless thought I have time for, sentiment, and dry space enough to write while we wait for a flash storm to pass: What an agonizingly tedious journey this has been. It only serves to remind me how far my legs carried me and long it took for them to fly south. This, of course, leads me to consider how fortunate I was that my hasty, harried stumble southward led me to you. Granted, there were a specific set of circumstances that ensured it was you to whom I was led, but all the same I can’t help but think - one wrong step, one slight change, and I mightn’t have found Alexius. Or I might’ve been devoured by a pack of wyverns. Or you might never have heeded my call to the Chantry. Or it mightn’t have been you at all. For better or worse, I’m glad that it was.

 

Whoever guides us from the heavens matters very little, I think. Whether we’re all products of a Maker, or a host of Creators, remnants of Forgotten ones, spilled from the bellies of dragon gods, or popped from the Stone like daisies, I must be thankful to them, for they have given you to me.

 

The storm has passed. Onward we go.  

 

Damp and weary but ever yours,

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

 

12th Cassus, 9:44 Dragon

 

Amatus,

 

Tevinter wine is good. Very good. Haven’t I said before? I must have. Haegrit hasn’t caught me with the quill yet. She’s deep in her cups. Those are good, too. Tevinter cups.

 

~~I miss your laugh~~ This inn is amazing. Got more amazing when they saw the crest. So much wine. Not sweet to your taste, but you have none. Taste, I mean. You do have quiet quite a lot of wine. This is all very silly, I only want to talk to you. ~~There’s such an enormous empty space beside me and it’s impossible to fill. I still wonder sometimes why it is how you could that you’d ever let me g~~

she spotted me. hiding now - D

 

* * *

 

17th Cassus, 9:44 Dragon

 

To Her Most Esteemed Ladyship Ambassador Montilyet,

I know what you’ve done, you marvel, you. You’ll find a year’s supply of chocolates at your doorstep within the season.

 

Quite sincerely,

_Dorian Pavus_

 

* * *

 

 

19th Cassus, 9:44 Dragon

 

Amatus,

 

Vyrantium is exactly as I‘ve always remembered it: Austere, sun-bleached, and teeming with eligible bachelorettes. My aunts have pressed a few upon me since our arrival, but it’s little more than a social formality at this point. The audacity of them to shove their friends‘ daughters at me has raised the ire of some of the more timid among your scouts. The one most afraid to meet my eye when our journey began is the very same who has flanked me like an intimidating elven shadow during both dinner parties and a very eventful luncheon. I believe it is more out of loyalty to you than myself, but I feel flattered by proxy.

 

Haegrit is picking up on Tevene far more quickly than I’d anticipated. Any day now she’ll discover I’ve been calling her a bicep-focal rock gobbler behind her back. I’ve no idea where she’ll hope to hide my body within the estate, but that will hardly deter her. She sends her love to your little gem, by the way. It comes by way of two fists tapped to opposite sides of her chest. She says the babe will know what it means.

 

But I’ve put it off long enough. Your gifts! Here, two days ago, I’d secreted your parcels away to my room from under my cousin’s grabby claws in the hopes that what I’d find within would be inappropriate for civilized company. All they did was turn me into a molten puddle.

 

Tell Krem I’ve worn his scarf about my shoulders on these cool winter nights. You southerners would call it a damnable heat, but it is refreshingly brisk to me, and so the scarf is a comfort. Though it would do just as well for you to tell him that the color is just a shade off my eyes, and he is welcome to try again.

 

I haven’t the heart to open the mulled wine. I’ll need to be rather drunk to indulge in it, I think - the scent of it would remind me of your mouth on mine in winters past, and the press of your hands to my skin, and the cadence of your voice as you kissed unbelievable words into my hair, and I would weep. At least if I’m drunk first, I have an excuse.

 

However, I’ve indulged in several of those Orlesian sweets, and begrudgingly shared a small few with all the scouts and guards and officers. Why did you send so many, again? And why did I convince them not to fear me? I remember the last time we were in the Val Royeaux market we first spied the chocolatier’s stall. I remember thinking out loud to you, Street chocolate? Surely you can afford better now, on the Inquisitor’s generous allowance. Her outrage still fuels me to this day. And because she insisted ‘better’ did not exist, you indulged her. You were in tears when you bought up her cart. And I was loathe to admit she was right. I still am. I’ve had to hoard the rest away under lock and key. Don’t you dare tell her so - her success is attributed to your endorsement, not her sales pitch.

 

I know not what to do with so many tinctures. You’ve bottled them yourself, I know, and were you any other man, I might be insulted. How much trouble do you think I get in all the way out here surrounded by this small army? I couldn’t if I tried - and believe me, I have. Still, I would bet my best travelling boots you’ve sealed these all with a kiss, so I thank you. If nothing else, my intimidating entourage is relieved.

 

The charm you carved lies in an unbelievably tacky pouch hung from my neck. I would’ve preferred to swallow it whole, but the timid young elf who feared me until week two of the Silent Plains offered his satchel necklace to me the moment he saw me wandering with your charm in my palm. I could hardly say no, lest he disintegrate into the dry heat with mortification. I don’t know exactly what you’ve done with it, but a warmth fills me from my chest to my toes when I hold it close, and I feel more at ease than I have in months. I assume this must mean it works.

 

And the poetry. Did you think I would not notice where the spine is cracked? Or were you counting on my noticing? I’ve seen the worn and oft-turned pages, felt the corners pressed soft with frequent touch, and all that rot. More to the point, the notes! Half the country would faint dead away to see the syrup you’ve spilled across these pages with your words. I would be among them. I cannot take it out of my quarters, or all dignity and poise would be lost to the Nocen Sea. That’s a detriment so far north among we mages of noble rank - almost like The Game, but specifically targeted to the demographic of me. I keep it tucked away under my pillow to pour over in the evenings when the sun is low, and the waves crash outside my window, and the breeze blows the fine curtains inward, and I can almost pretend I’m at the top of a blighted mountain instead, with you.

 

I’m being called to entertain an estranged uncle who appears to be very interested in my time abroad. I think I shall tell him of your impressive musculature over wine from the Blessed Age.

 

Entirely yours,

_Dorian_

 

* * *

 

 

10th Haring, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dearest Dorian,

 

I have not heard from you but I cannot keep my mind from wandering to you and all the things I would like to tell you. I would blame it on the snow that keeps us trapped inside and makes me restless but in truth, it was this way before even the first flakes touched the ground.

 

Josephine has taken the opportunity to teach me all about the different noble families of Antiva. I know more about their secrets and alliances now than I know about my own but she insists that the knowledge can only help the Inquisition. I remember the preparation for the ball at the Winter Palace well but Orlesians seem almost harmless and placid in comparison to the Antivans. Is there anyone not in league with the Crows? Josephine just laughed when I asked her but that isn't really an answer.

 

I fear that she wants to move on to Tevinter nobility soon but she has circumvented the topic tactfully until now. Mostly, she seems content with getting me to drink hot chocolate by the fireside and telling me about the scandals of the Antivan court. There are worse ways to spend an evening and the chocolate makes me sleepier than I have been in months.

 

I’m to serve as judge in a snowman competition now. I can see them bickering about it in the yard. I think the big mountain with two sticks sticking out of the top is supposed to be me. Sera seems awfully proud. I wish you were here to be mildly insulted on my behalf. Then again, I wish you were here in general. These are easier days but I know they would be easier still with you by my side.

 

Yours,

_Adaar_

 

* * *

 

18th Haring, 9:44 Dragon

 

Dear Dorian,

 

Another letter from me before the last one even reached you, I am sure. I am a mess and I should not put these words to paper but here we are. Perhaps I will rip it up as soon as the ink is dry. Or I will send it before I can think about it twice.

 

Kea has been sick these past few days. Just a slight cold after playing in the snow for too long and she is sleeping much more peacefully now, but I stayed awake to watch her. Keili, one of the healers, has scolded me for it. She thinks I spoil the child. That I worry too much. And perhaps I do. But she is my responsibility and the thought that she is not well pains me enough to keep me awake.

 

I have wandered the keep, back to the library as always. I hoped that a glass of wine and reading would help me fall asleep now that Kea is feeling better, but all it did was make me sentimental and just drunk enough to wallow.

 

I must have read a poem entitled “The ghost of you seeks me at night” nearly hundred times these last few nights. It feels like someone plucked a string in that hollow place inside of me. In the second stanza, I recognized the feeling that kept me awake for months after your departure. A lifetime ago, someone felt the same as I do and I don’t know if the thought should comfort me.

 

The wind outside your softest sigh,

The shifting sheets your fingertips.

The summer breeze is but your kiss

that leaves me wanting,

waning.

 

I can feel you in everything. Everything you touched, every place where you stood or sat and lay. The whole keep is haunted by you and I can't complain because I crave these memories. But I’d rather have you and the longing is eating at me.

 

I should not tell you this. It isn’t fair. Blame it on the wine or the sleepless nights.

 

_Adaar_

**Author's Note:**

> I (byacolate) have been gagging to write post-game letter fic for the better part of the year, and mywordsflyup is the only reason it's finally happening. After a couple weeks of writing, seeing Dorian's letter to his romanced Inquisitor in the Trespasser DLC legitimized the thirst AND this fic. It's real. Too real.
> 
> Tevene was used when applicable, and Latin when it was not.  
> Verba volant, scripta manent: "spoken words fly away, written words remain"  
> Carissimus: dearest, most or very beloved  
> Mellitus: honey-sweet; darling  
> Vitae benefaria: (Tevene) a respectful goodbye
> 
> Chapter titles from Joanna Newsom's "On a Good Day": __Hey hey hey, the end is near! On a good day, you can see the end from here. But I won't turn back, now, though the way is clear; I will stay for the remainder.  
>  I saw a life, and I called it mine. I saw it, drawn so sweet and fine, and I had begun to fill in all the lines, right down to what we'd name her.  
> Our nature does not change by will. In the winter, 'round the ruined mill, the creek is lying, flat and still; it is water, though it's frozen.  
> So, 'cross the years, and miles, and through, on a good day, you can feel my love for you. Will you leave me be, so that we can stay true to the path that you have chosen?
> 
>  
> 
> If you are so inclined, feel free to follow [mywordsflyup](http://thethousandnaturalshocks.tumblr.com/)'s & [my Tumblr](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).


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